i saw her there one morning.
she leaned against the window,
elbows propped on the sill,
breath clouding the glass,
absent gray eyes searching.
what she was searching for
i didn’t know.
the house was quiet, but her mind was not.
inside there were a thousand questions.
i could almost see them swirling in her head,
pounding at her skull,
infecting her mind,
demanding for answers.
answers to what
i didn’t know,
but probably a thousand different things.
suddenly her hand snuck to the glass,
to a fogged circle,
created by her breath,
where her finger made contact
and then swirls were drawn there,
a maze of shaped lines,
until she erased it and there was only glass.
i promptly saw her that afternoon.
she was in a window-seat, i think,
her knees pulled to her chest,
her head titled slightly to the side,
and there i saw her breath gathered upon the glass again.
not just her breath but steam from a mug;
the coffee swirled as her finger had in the fog the day before,
but these are only little things she noticed in her churning mind.
i look again now and see her reflection staring back.
questions are still pounding but they dissipate when i close my eyes,
for i am a daughter of the King of kings and i give him my doubt.
he gives me peace in exchange.
in the glass i see a reflection of the girl i’ve always known,
the girl i am.
the girl who thinks too much.
the girl who’s learning to be still.
Lord, i want to be